


Strange Adoration

by StarryEyedWatson



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Dark Sherlock, Implied abuse, Johnlock Fluff, M/M, Not-so-innocent John, Sheriarty smut (written by consulting_madman_with_an_impala), Sherlock works for Jim, army John, dark fuck prince sherlock? nahhh, ex-sniper John, he's so dedicated to john, heh, i certainly don't, more like dork fuck prince, poor bean child, very loyal very quickly, well i said dark sherlock but really Sherlock just wants to protect John, where on earth is Mycroft???, who knows where exactly this is going
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-06-05 14:23:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6708274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarryEyedWatson/pseuds/StarryEyedWatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Sherlock sat in the back of one of his boss’s town cars. He ran his fingers through his messy hair, taming at least a part of it. He'd been watching John for months. All of that planning, gone. The boss was going to kill him. He was okay with Sherlock messing with his plans on occasion, but Sherlock had given John his identity, his address. Sherlock had messed up.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well. Okay. I'm several chapters ahead of where I am in posting with the writing, so...a few notes. The first chapter is by Consulting_madman_with_an_impala. The second chapter is a collaboration between the two of us. After that, she hit a brick wall of writers' block and turned this over to me. Everything else, starting with Chapter three, is me. Except the smut. That's not my division, if you'll pardon the expression, so Consulting_Madman writes that.

John stared at the dark haired man sitting three bar stools down from him. His dark hair curled around his sharp, angular face, highlighting his pale skin and illuminating his sharp cheekbones and full lips. His pale lips twitched as the man realized John was watching him. He shifted his sparkling greenish-blue eyes to stare back at John. 

Quickly, he pulled his gaze away from the man’s lips, then looked back down at the bar top and took a long drink of his beer. The stranger shuffled in John’s peripheral view and slid a paper down the bar before standing up and sweeping on his coat like some superstar. Just the thought of the man swaggering out of the bar made John angry.

He looked at the paper. What he had assumed was a paper was actually a business card, folded up to hide the inside. John unfolded the card, reading the message quickly before looking back for the man.

The dark-haired man stood at the door. He had a blue scarf wrapped around his neck and his coat collar was flipped up. He looked at John, smirked, then turned and walked out of the car, coat flying behind him.

_John Watson._

_D_ _ischarged from the army._ _Shoulder wound._ _Psychosomatic limp._ _Looking for a flat._  

 _221b Baker Street._ _Tomorrow evening._ _Leave the cane._

_If convenient, come. If inconvenient, come anyways._

John stared at the card in disbelief. _How could anyone know that  much from a single glance?_ John stood, abandoning his drink at the bar. He folded up the card again and noticed some writing on the back, in the same scrawling, spidery hand.

_The name’s Sherlock Holmes_

John grabbed his cane and limped out of the bar just in time to see a black car with tinted windows pull away from the curb.

\---

Sherlock sat in the back of one of his boss’s town cars, a bit panicked, horrified with himself. His ran his fingers through his messy hair, taming at least a part of it. He'd been watching John for months. All of that planning, gone. The boss was going to kill him. He was okay with Sherlock messing with his plans on occasion, but Sherlock had given John his identity, his address. _Sherlock had messed up_. 


	2. Chapter 2

Jim Moriarty’s cold, dark eyes scanned the man standing in front of him. One of his favorites, but easily replaced. He could have him shot with a simple text, or he could have him brutally tortured for months until he became of no interest to him. Jim was in the mood for the latter, but he knew how this man would react. He wouldn’t beg until his family was mentioned. 

“It’s a shame you couldn’t protect your family better, Mr Matthews.” The man fell to his knees and began begging Jim not to hurt them. “Especially that wife. She is a beauty.” Jim silenced him with a single wave of the hand. “I’ll enjoy watching her beg for mercy against my best agent.” 

The man fell forward, his face hitting the front of Jim’s desk. The cause of death, a bullet wound to the head. Jim stood and walked over to where the dead man laid. He nudged the man onto his back. The last thing he needed is to have to scrub blood out of his carpet. 

“Boss?”

Jim looked up at the taller man and smoothed his suit down. He was wearing a black Westwood and red tie, his usual work clothes. His dark hair had been slicked back. His suit jacket had been long forgotten on the back of his chair and he was showing off a soft white button up. 

“Ah, Sherlock. I’ve been expecting you.”

Sherlock stood in the door of JIm’s office. He always felt weird about coming in since the ceiling was low and made Sherlock seem like a giant towering over Jim. Sherlock stepped into the small office.

Sherlock nodded to the body. “Tough day?” He tried to make Jim smile, in hopes of avoiding his punishment.

Jim shrugged, ran his fingers through his hair, and sat down at his desk. He didn’t look at Sherlock when he spoke, but Sherlock could tell by the calm restraint in his voice how truly angry he was. “Do you know how I punish the people that are disloyal to me?” he asked quietly. “Not one of my employees is allowed to get away with directly disobeying orders.” He looked up at Sherlock, finally training his alarmingly dark eyes on the tall man standing before him. “No matter how dear they are to me.” He tilted his head to one side, dark eyes glittering in the light. “Tell me, pet, how do you think I should punish you?”

Sherlock swallowed, his own gray eyes captivated by the smaller man’s. He tried to speak, but found that his throat had gone dry and any words he thought he was going to say now felt like they were sandpaper coming up his throat. He forced his eyes away from Jim’s and trained them on the floor where the dead man lay. There would be a blood stain. It would be almost undetectable to the human eye, but it would be there. 

Jim cleared his throat, believing he had given Sherlock enough time to answer. He tapped his pen once against his desk and stood, walking around his desk to stand in front of him. He carefully stepped over the dead body and stopped. 

Sherlock’s heart began beating faster and harder now. He could smell Jim’s cologne. He could feel his level exhale. He would have sworn he could feel Jim’s critical gaze crawling over his skin. 

“I asked you a question. I do hope you’ll live long enough to give me an answer.”

Sherlock searched his mind for answers. None of the options were pleasant, though some were admittedly less gruesome. Sherlock cleared his throat and looked up at the pale man before answering. “I’m meeting Dr Watson tomorrow, so any damage would have to be hidden under my clothes. I suppose if it extended beyond that, I could wear my coat, but not without raising suspicion from Dr Watson. We’ll want to stay away from his suspicions.”

“Yes, of course.” Jim smirked up at him. “Mustn’t make Doctor Watson suspicious.” He  began to walk around Sherlock, turning his attention to the floor. “You know, Sherlock, there’s a very wide variety of things I could do to you that Watson would never be able to see.” He stopped behind Sherlock, resting his hand on the small of the taller man’s back, then leaned up to Sherlock’s ear. “Help me decide, pet.”

Sherlock closed his eyes and focused on Jim’s words and not his hand. Jim didn't want this. He wanted a reaction. He always wanted a reaction. “Last time, you had your pet give me 30 lashes. Of course, that would probably result in some awkwardness if I leaned back against anything.” He bit his lip and let out a shaky breath. 

“I wasn’t thinking  _ lashes _ ...” Jim purred into Sherlock’s ear. “Would you like to guess at what I have in mind?” He snaked his hand around to Sherlock’s front, pressing his palm against Sherlock’s stomach. “Go on, pet, take a guess…” 

Sherlock sucked in a sharp breath when Jim touched his stomach. Sherlock turned to face the shorter man. His build was normal, but Sherlock knew the true power underneath that suit.

Sherlock found that his eyes were drawn to Jim’s cold ones. Usually they looked dead, but now they had a proud gleam to them. Pride. The cocky bastard. 

Sherlock knelt down and undid Jim’s belt, carefully pulling it off and placing it in the chair the way Jim liked. He couldn't stand when someone mistreated his clothes. Sherlock drew his gaze away from Jim’s and looked at his trousers. He couldn't help the smirk that fell onto his lips when he saw the straining erection against Jim’s trousers. 

Jim grinned at him and ran a hand through Sherlock’s dark curls. “There you go, pet…” He traced Sherlock’s cheekbone, and then his jaw. “You’ve guessed correctly…” He tilted Sherlock’s chin so their eyes would meet once more. “Don’t disappoint me.”

Sherlock undid Jim’s trousers, pushing them down along with his pants. Jim’s pupils dilated, his dark eyes glittering in the lights. Sherlock looked back up at Jim, slightly surprised that Jim’s eyes could get any darker. 

Sherlock ran his long fingers down the shaft, sending shivers of pleasure down Jim’s back. Jim leaned his head back and chucked to himself. Sherlock turned his head and placed soft kisses along his shaft. He ran his fingers up Jim’s thigh and gripped the base tightly before taking the head into his mouth. 

_ Teasing _ . That’s what he was doing. Jim growled softly and looked down, preparing to correct his pet on his mistake when he saw it. Sherlock’s grey eyes had taken on their own darkness and the sight of his lips wrapped tightly around his cock was almost enough to get off on his own. Jim let out a moan and gripped Sherlock’s curls. “Put those lips to use, pet.”

Sherlock loved the moan that escaped Jim’s lips. He ran his tongue around the tip, licking at the precum pooling up at the tip. He looked up at Jim and slid his mouth down around Jim’s length. Sherlock tightened his lips at the base, knowing that Jim would need to have control here. Jim pulled on Sherlock’s hair and held him there. Sherlock ran his tongue along the shaft, swirling his tongue around him. 

Jim released his hold on Sherlock and let him have control. Jim was nearing the edge, Sherlock could tell. Sherlock closed his eyes and bobbed his head in a quick rhythm, setting a quick pace to push Jim over the edge quicker. Jim moaned loudly and tugged on Sherlock’s hair. He began to thrust into Sherlock’s mouth, making each second so much more intense. He let out a soft whimper, bucked once, then twice, and released his load into Sherlock’s mouth.

Sherlock pulled off Jim’s cock, making sure to get every bit of the hot, white liquid before he went. He swallowed it all down and stared up at Jim. His own eyes had dilated and he was covering his pants straining against his cock with his hand. 

Jim cleaned up and quickly put himself back together. His eyes had gone dark again and he looked absolutely unamused. He looked down at Sherlock and smirked. He leaned down and took Sherlock’s face in one hand, squeezing his cheeks so his lips poked out. “So good for Daddy.”Jim stood and walked over the dead body to the other side of his desk. He sniffed loudly, as if snorting cocaine, and smoothed his hair back. 

“ _ Don’t disobey me _ .”


	3. Chapter 3

This was insane. Completely crazy. A man that John had never actually met had known a bit about him, and now John was going to look at a flat with him? Ridiculous. John looked at the address scribbled on the business card, then looked up at the door, checking to make certain he had the right address. 221b Baker Street. This was indeed the place he had been instructed to go. And, also as instructed, he had left his cane behind and was managing as best he could without it.

Stuffing the note into his pocket, John stepped towards the door and knocked.

The door was opened by a pleasant-looking older woman, who gave him a welcoming smile. "Oh, you must be Doctor Watson! Come in, dear. I'm Mrs Hudson." She waved him inside, then turned towards the stairs. "Sherlock! Doctor Watson is here!"

John looked around curiously, listening to the quiet violin that came from upstairs. 

Mrs Hudson grew exasperated when Sherlock didn't show himself and the violin continued. "Sherlock!" She called again, then looked at John. "I'll take you up myself. Follow me." She led him up the stairs, through the open door, and into the flat. To John, she seemed incredibly agile for a woman her age. “Sherlock, didn't you hear me? John Watson is here."

Immediately, Sherlock stopped playing and looked towards the door, looking put out about being interrupted until he spotted John. He set down the violin. "Thank you, Mrs Hudson."

She smiled. "Of course, dear." She patted John's shoulder fondly. "There's an extra bedroom upstairs if you'll be needing two bedrooms." With a sly smile, she turned and walked back down the stairs.

“Wha- of course we’ll need two…” John objected, turning to look at Sherlock. “Hello, Mr Holmes.”

"Call me Sherlock. I went ahead and moved in. It’s a bit of a mess right now...you don’t mind, do you?" Sherlock tilted his head to one side and smiled warmly, then picked up his violin. "Also, violin. I play when I'm thinking."

"Not at all," John replied with a sigh, seating himself in the chair facing away from the kitchen. "So, how do you suppose you and I could afford a place like this?" 

“Her husband got himself sentenced to death, I ensured his execution, and now she’s offering me a lower rate,” Sherlock smiled slightly. Not entirely false. Sherlock had been the one to kill Mr Hudson, operating under Moriarty’s orders.

“So you’re..." John tilted his head. "what do you do?” he asked.

“I’m a detective, of sorts.” Sherlock replied, thinking quickly. “I solve crimes.” Not exactly true, but...he had wanted to be a detective, once upon a time, and his skills of deduction were suitable for such a profession. “I can tell anything about anyone by looking at them. It’s how I knew so much about you, and why I’m so good at what I do.” He was standing now, just pacing around the living room.

“Fascinating.” John watched him intently. “Explain how you figured all of that out about me? I’d love to know how you did it.”

“Well, it was an acquaintance of mine who told me about you, and told me where to find you.” That was the only part which required Sherlock to lie. The rest he had picked up from watching John on Moriarty’s orders. Of course, he left out Moriarty entirely. 

Occasionally, John would interject with an exclamation of “Fantastic!” or “Amazing!”, which earned him a confused look from Sherlock.

“Sherlock, that’s brilliant.” John remarked once Sherlock had finished.

“That’s not what people usually say…” Sherlock smirked slightly. “Would you like some tea? I could have Mrs Hudson bring some up for us. Biscuits, too, if you'd like." 

To Sherlock's delight, John smiled. A real, genuine smile. Hopefully. "That sounds nice.”

A few minutes later, the two men sat across from each other, each with a nice cup of tea provided by Mrs Hudson. 

“Well, Dr Watson, what do you think of the flat?” Sherlock asked, watching as John sipped his tea.

“It’s nice,” John said with a smile. “Excellent. And Mrs Hudson’s lovely.”

“She is…” Sherlock replied, looking at his phone. He had a text from Jim, instructions for a kill he wanted Sherlock to carry out. “I have to go. I’m sorry, John. I should be back soon.” He stood and pulled on his coat, the one that had a loaded gun in the pocket. “I have a case. Very urgent. Can’t wait.” With that, he rushed out of the flat, not pausing when John tried to protest.

Sherlock glanced once more at his phone with the intention of going over the details of the kill once more. Of course, this would require getting physical, and possibly even a fight. Maybe he could get John out of the flat and out of the way so he would be safe. 

**Get your things while I’m out and get settled into 221b. SH**


	4. Chapter 4

“I can’t believe you took on three men twice your size. Sherlock, that was some sort of suicide mission…” John fussed, dabbing at the multiple cuts and bruises that now covered Sherlock’s face. “You’re just lucky I was there, or you might have gotten killed.”

“You should have been following me more closely. I might not have been beaten so badly.” Sherlock sat on the edge of the counter in the bathroom. The mission had been an absolute disaster. He flinched when John began using a disinfectant on of his cuts. “Ow, John, that stings.”

“You’re also lucky you won’t need stitches.” John sighed. “So, those men...were they-”

“They were part of a case. Not important.”

“Part of a case? Sherlock, someone wants you dead. That didn’t look like a case to me. That looked like someone setting up to kill you.” John stared at Sherlock, blue eyes full of concern.

“Yes, well, that’s part of the job, I’m afraid…” Sherlock sighed. “I have enemies.”

“Are you lying to me?”

“Not...not entirely, no.” Sherlock sighed again, deeper this time. Excellent. His plans for keeping John from knowing anything were quickly vanishing. Now John would never trust him. John would accuse him of spying on him. John would hate him.

“You don’t solve crimes, do you?” John’s voice was calm, and Sherlock even detected a note of humour. Maybe he wasn’t  _ too _ angry.

“No, I don’t. But...those men were my job. I was sent to kill them. Or...I was sent there to kill a man. Not one of those three.” Sherlock was beginning to panic. If John hated him, then he would run, and Moriarty would find him and use him to punish Sherlock…

“So you’re an assassin?” Still calm. Less amused.

Gaze drifting to the tile floor, Sherlock nodded. “I didn’t want to tell you. I didn’t want you to think little of me. I’m sorry I lied to you, John. I’m sorry. Please don’t go. Please stay here. He is trying to kill me because I made a mistake and interfered, and now…” As he spoke, he screwed his eyes shut, his breathing became more shallow and quick, and his muscles became tense.

“Sherlock, calm down. I’m not angry with you. I understand.” John set the cloth in the sink and reached for Sherlock’s hand. To John’s surprise, Sherlock calmed at his touch. John smiled, holding Sherlock’s hand gently in his own. “There...it’s alright. I’m not going to let anyone hurt you, Sherlock.”

“Why?” Sherlock asked, opening his eyes. “Why not? Save yourself a lot of trouble.”

“Because…” John hesitated, “you’re my friend. I haven’t got many of those, so I want to keep you safe.”

Sherlock smiled slightly. John was so kind, so trusting, like no one Sherlock had ever met before. John was perfect. But how angry would he be if he knew that Sherlock’s desire to protect him was what was putting them both in danger? That Sherlock’s mistake was going to affect John as well? If he mentioned to John that he shouldn’t protect him, John would ask why, and then Sherlock would have to tell him that he was in danger. Then John would want to know, and Sherlock would have to tell him, and then John might leave, and Sherlock wouldn’t be able to protect him at all. 

No, Sherlock would just have to let John go on believing he was protecting Sherlock. At least then he would stay close, and stay safe.

“I haven’t got many either.”  _ But you don’t have to protect me. That will only get you hurt.  _ Sherlock stood, catching a glimpse of himself in the bathroom mirror. He cringed at the sight. His face looked terrible, an angry mess of bruised and discolored skin. 

“It doesn’t look that great, but it’ll heal.” John stated, noticing Sherlock’s expression. “Nothing’s broken.” His gaze flickered to his watch, and he gave a sigh. “It’s getting late. I should get my things and bring them over here, get settled in before tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Sherlock looked at him. 

“I’m being interviewed tomorrow for a job at a clinic.” John smiled. “I’ll be back in a bit. It shouldn’t take too long, as I don’t have that much to get.” 

“I didn’t know you were a doctor.” Sherlock tilted his head.

“Yeah, well, there’s a lot you don’t know, even if you did figure out that I was a soldier.” John replied, his smile fading. “Maybe I’ll tell you, one day.” He turned and walked out of the bathroom, then out of the flat.

Sherlock sighed. This was excellent. John was getting a job, which would mean that tracking him and keeping him safe would be much more difficult. Of course, Sherlock had known this would happen eventually. John would get a job, and predicting what he did over the course of a day would become more difficult. 

Maybe there was a way to prevent Moriarty from hurting John. Maybe if Sherlock went to him, begging, and promised to work for Moriarty for the rest of his life, or if he let Moriarty punish him instead of John...anything could work. Anything to keep John safe.


	5. Chapter 5

"I thought you knew what was expected of you. I thought you were smart enough not to try to interfere with my plans." Jim Moriarty's voice was silky and sweet as Sherlock stood before him in his office the next morning. John had successfully moved in with Sherlock, and Jim knew. "It just goes to show you that even the best of us make mistakes sometimes. Mine was trusting you to watch John Watson. Or...perhaps it was simply trusting you."

"Why do you care so much about John? He's harmless. He's not trying to interfere with your network." Sherlock's voice shook. He hated it, hated revealing any shred of emotion, but Jim Moriarty...somehow, the man tore emotions of terror and hatred out of you whether you wanted to show them or not.

Moriarty's dark eyes flickered with amusement. "Interesting way of putting it, Sherlock. Let's see, shall we? Why do I care? The answer is...I don't. I don't care about him, personally.” He grinned. “Oh, Sherlock, you must be blinded by how much you care."

"What?" Sherlock frowned. What had he missed? What detail of John was he blind to? He mentally went over what he knew in his head, from things he had learnt from John yesterday and from things he had deduced. John Watson: soldier, doctor, army doctor, discharged from the army with a shoulder wound, excellent marksmanship, strong, wonderful laugh, dazzling smile, gorgeous eyes...

"Ugh, it's almost painful to watch you think." Jim sighed, resting his chin on his hands, dark eyes never once looking away from Sherlock. "Come ooon, Sherlyyyy..." He was dragging his words out. Sherlock hated it when he did that. "You'll get there eventually."

As Sherlock went over his mental list for a second time, it hit him. Excellent marksmanship. "You want him in your network because of his skill with a gun. Is that my job? The part you didn't tell me? To recruit him to work for you?"

"What? No, Sherlock..." Jim sighed again, deeper this time. He sat up straight. "I wanted him in my network at one time, yes, but I've already spoken with him. May have scared him off a bit. Your job is to watch him, make sure he doesn't go to work for someone else."

"He interviewing for a job at a clinic. He's a doctor. I'm certain he's not interested-”

“Oh, stop it. Sherlock, he’s killed people before. You of all people should know that’s not something you just stop doing. It becomes an addiction. Your doctor must be bored by now.” Jim frowned suddenly. “How do you know he’s at a clinic? You’re not following him, he could have gone anywhere.”

“He wasn’t lying to me, boss. I would have known.” Would John lie to him? He had called Sherlock his friend. Friends didn’t lie to one another, did they? Would Sherlock have even been able to tell if John had been lying to him?

“How can you be sure? Other than than you live with him, which doesn’t mean much, given all the information I have about him.” Jim paused, a smirk playing at his lips. “Don’t tell me you actually trust him.”

Sherlock looked at the floor, the desk, the ceiling, anywhere that he didn’t have to look at Jim. Of course he trusted John. John had saved his life, John had killed for him. Though, as Jim said, that didn’t mean much, given the new information.

“You do.” Jim sighed. “Honestly, Sherlock, I’m disappointed. I thought you were better than that. You actually trust him. Although, I don’t really blame you. He did save your life, after all.”

“Yes, about that.” Sherlock looked back at Jim, a new anger sparking in his grey eyes. “You could have had me shot. Executed, quick and quiet, no mess, no problem. Which leads me to believe that you don’t actually want me dead. I would have escaped eventually, had John not shown up to help.”

“I was simply measuring Watson’s loyalty to you,” Jim replied dismissively. “Tell me, how many times did John fire? Three, yes? A bullet for each that I sent?” As he spoke, he took on an aura of childlike excitement, his eyes gleaming. “It's not just about you anymore, Sherly. While it's true you trust him, he also trusts you!”

Perhaps he did, now that Sherlock thought about it. He had gained John’s friendship in less than a day. A stunning accomplishment, considering Sherlock’s past with making friends. “And what if he does?”

“If he does…” Jim’s grin widened. “If he does, Sherly, I might not have to punish you. I might even have to reward you, though that might be stretching it a bit.”

Much more slowly than he should have, Sherlock began to connect the dots of Jim’s plan, catching a rare glimpse of the workings of Jim’s brain. “You want me to convince John to work with you.” His voice was flat, empty, starkly contrasting Jim’s.

“Yes. But you'll have to be gently in your approach of the subject. John gets a bit...touchy when talking about his past.” Moriarty listed his head to one side in a catlike motion, as though calculating whether or not this new idea would work, whether or not Sherlock would work. “How do you think he would react if he were to ever learn that you had been assigned to watch him?”

“He would kill me,” Sherlock replied, “forget any loyalty to me. He wouldn't hesitate to shoot me. Boss, this won’t work.”

“Yes, we should probably avoid your death as an outcome.” Jim grinned, pointedly ignoring Sherlock’s doubt. “You’ll have to be careful. So, I'll give you more time with this mission. You’re typically good with words. Get to know him. Make him like you. Make him trust you even more.”

“Are we done here?” Sherlock snapped.

“You’re dismissed, Sherly.” Jim replied, waving Sherlock away and directing his attention to his laptop.

Sherlock cringed and walked towards the door. Sherly. Jim knew Sherlock hated nicknames of any sort, but that...that one was probably the worst.

“Oh, and Sherlock, pet…”

Pet. There was another one Sherlock hated. “Yes?”

Jim smirked, not even troubling himself to glance in Sherlock’s direction. “Good luck. And don’t disappoint me.” 


	6. Chapter 6

Sherlock had arrived at 221b much earlier than John, and, having nothing interesting whatsoever to do, had decided to type up a report on his laptop of the many facial expressions of John Watson he had seen since their meeting in the pub. He soon found that it was a much more difficult task than he has originally though, as other humans, such as his revered John Watson, were capable of a far greater range of emotion than Sherlock had realized. Thus, he concluded that a guide had to be written on how one might interpret John's facial expressions to determine his mood.  
  
First on Sherlock’s list of facial expressions was the smile, as it had many meanings and purposes, and even a wide variety of what it might look like. When John found something funny, he would smile. That particular smile was wide and genuine, and often accompanied by laughter.

That, of course, branched off into interpretations of John’s laughter. Light giggles meant John was amused and happy. A short laugh and a quick, forced smile were often indications that John was angry or uncomfortable.

 A calm, gentle smile meant that John was attempting to calm or encourage someone. That particular smile was the one Sherlock has seen when John was tending to his injuries after the fight with Moriarty’s men.

 Then came John’s frown. Sherlock had never really seen John frown, so he had very little data about that. Very little aside from the frown when John shot a gun, a determined, concentrating frown, and the frown when Sherlock had admitted that there was someone trying to kill him, a protective, almost angry frown.

 Perhaps, Sherlock thought reluctantly, he was taking this too far. What had began as a simple categorization of John’s expressions had turned into a full report of every mood that Sherlock had seen in John since they met.with a sigh, Sherlock shut his laptop. None of the readers on his science blog would care to read about John’s expressions, anyway. Not that he _had_ that many readers. Well, to be fair, he had a few. Some people who occasionally commented things like “Wow!” and “That’s amazing” and “I could never do that!”. Of course they couldn’t. That’s why Sherlock posted.

 Now, without the report to work on, he was bored. John was still not home, and absolutely nothing seemed interesting. Not violin, not the experiment that sat abandoned in the kitchen...although, that needed to be cleaned up. John probably wouldn't like the idea of human ears in the kitchen.

 Casting one last glance around the room to see if there was anything interesting that he had missed, Sherlock stood. Something was off. Something was different, not quite right. But he couldn't tell what it was, so he walked into the kitchen. It wasn't in a terrible mess, as Sherlock had not had enough time to make very much of a mess, so clean up didn't take him very long.

 As Sherlock worked, he made a list in his mind of what he was doing. Put the ears in a bag, then in the freezer. Put the burner in the cupboard. Make sure everything else was put away. Look around for anything else to do. Sherlock grinned. Perhaps he could cook and have food ready for John when he got home.

 “Sherlock? I want you to meet your new neighbor!” Mrs Hudson called from the stairwell. “I’m making tea. Do come down, if you’re not busy.”

 So much for cooking dinner. Sherlock sighed and walked down the stairs into Mrs Hudson’s flat. He had to admit, it was probably for the best. He was a terrible cook.

 “Make yourself comfortable, dear.” Mrs Hudson waved her hand towards the sofas, where a blond-haired man sat with his back facing Sherlock, before hurrying into the kitchen.

 Sherlock seated himself in one of her large overstuffed chairs, gazing intently at the man. “I didn’t realize the boss cared enough about this to send you.”

 “Mrs Hudson says we’re going to be neighbors, Sherlock. Guess that means we have to start getting along.” Sebastian Moran grinned back at Sherlock. He was easily recognizable by the distinctive scarring on his face, and, when he was standing, his incredible height.

 “Isn’t the basement flat a bit low for you?” Sherlock asked, tilting his head to one side. A habit he had picked up from Jim.

 “It’s cozy.” Sebastian smirked. “Jim didn’t trust you enough. Guess that’s why he sent me. I never fail him.”

 Sherlock scowled. “Are all of Jim’s second-in-commands as arrogant as you?”

 “You seem to think he’s actually had someone other than me.” Sebastian leaned back casually and tugged a hand through his messy blond hair.

 “Don't get in my way.” Sherlock snapped suddenly.

 “Of course I won't,” Sebastian sat up, looking a bit surprised. “I’m only here to oversee. Can't let his little pet get punished again for a failed job.”

 “Makes you jealous, doesn’t it, _tiger_? Thought of somebody else taking what’s yours?”

 Sebastian’s face flushed red with embarrassment. “Shut up.”

 “It’s actually possible to embarrass you? Seems Jim’s perfect tiger isn’t as perfect as he thought.” Sherlock smirked.

 “You should just be glad the landlady’s deaf.” Sebastian sighed.

 Mrs Hudson walked out of the kitchen and passed cups and saucers to both of them, then poured tea. “I see you’re both getting to know each other.” She smiled, seating herself beside Sebastian on the sofa.

 Sherlock nodded and took a sip of his tea.

 “So, Sebastian, when do you start your new job?” Mrs Hudson asked, giving him an adoring smile.

 “Yes, when _do_ you start?” Sherlock repeated, voice laced with a note of sarcasm that would only been recognized by Sebastian. “And what exactly do you do?”

 “My job is much the same as yours, Sherlock, so I’m sure you know why it has brought me here.” He returned Mrs Hudson’s smile with an equally adoring look. “I’ve actually already started. Sherlock and I are working the same case, and I’ve got to do extra to catch up to him. Quite a complicated case, since the great Sherlock Holmes needed my help.” His gaze returned to Sherlock, and he smirked.

 Sherlock rolled his eyes. _Arrogant bastard._ He thought he was better than everyone else simply because he was Jim’s favorite. Which meant Sherlock was failing. Sherlock’s time as Jim’s pet was running out, and he was dangerously close to losing Jim’s favour.

 His only option, then, if Jim had sent Moran, was to recruit John before Moran could, and prove that he was still worthy of his place at Jim’s side. “I’m sorry, Mrs Hudson,” he said as he stood, “but I’m afraid I have to go. John’s going to be home soon, and I have a rather large mess to clean up before he arrives.”

 “That’s alright, dear. I much prefer for you to tidy up so I don’t have to.”

 Sherlock smiled and walked out.

“Large mess indeed…” Sebastian muttered as Sherlock walked past, just barely loud enough for Sherlock to hear. He smirked when Sherlock glanced back at him.

  _Large mess indeed,_ Sherlock’s mind echoed, driving him up the stairway into 221b faster, _large mess indeed._


	7. Chapter 7

**To: M  
From: xxx  
Subject: Watson**

**You're running out of time to secure him for yourself. If you lose him, your empire will fall. If you lose him, I’m going to get you.**

The email was short, simple, and straightforward, which was enough to bother Jim Moriarty. Emails he received were usually very cryptic, encoded with all sorts of traps and difficult word entanglements. Those emails were what he expected. They were puzzles, and he adored solving puzzles. 

This was different, entirely different. 

Moriarty sat at his desk, with his hands folded on the desk top and his chin resting ln his hands. His laptop sat open in front of him, the stark, unfriendly white color of this latest threat-by-email glaring down at him. 

He closed his eyes briefly. Surely, he wasn't behind as this message suggested. He had Moran and Holmes working for him. Although, Holmes had shown lately that his resolve as a cold killer was cracking. Perhaps Holmes was a leak, a disloyal hole punched in the firewall of his network, that was allowing Watson to slip away. 

That particular issue could be dealt with later. Holmes's loyalty was not his priority, not with Moran due in at any moment now for a visit, and update on how things within the network from his point of view. Moriarty glanced at the time on his laptop screen, and sat up. 

As he closed his laptop, the large door to his office swung open, and in stepped Sebastian Moran, perfectly on time. "You’re late.” Jim tilted his head lazily to one side. “I hope you have something important to tell me.”

Sebastian seated himself in the chair in front of Jim’s and stretched casually. “I’m not late. I’m _never_ late, Jim.”

“ _Jim_? Could you possibly be any more informal?” Jim grinned, watching Sebastian with a fondness that was ordinarily buried too deep to make itself known. 

“I guess I could take my shoes off,” Sebastian replied, “put my feet up on your desk, and talk to you about sports.”

“Get on with why you’re here, Tiger. You must have something useful to tell me.”

“Well, a team of new recruits got themselves killed when a job went south.” Sebastian corrected his posture and sat up a little straighter. 

“And their leader?” Jim frowned. 

“He thought it was more important to save his own skin than to finish the job. I took care of him.” 

“Sebastian.” A bored sigh. 

“What? It’s not like he was worth anything. I finished the mission myself, so no money lost there.” 

“If it only required one person, why was an entire team sent?” Jim watched Sebastian carefully. 

“Because that mission was difficult. Or, it would have been, to someone less skilled.” 

“If it was so hard, why was it given to the new recruits?” Jim frowned. 

Sebastian sighed. “Because it wasn’t important. All jobs that aren’t important go to the new recruits.”

“Shouldn’t jobs be sent out based on skill level? I mean, the new recruits can’t do much, let them take the easy ones.”

“Boss, the jobs are assigned based on seniority. The most important jobs go to the ones you can trust the most. Regardless of difficulty, it wouldn’t make sense to send out a random new recruit for some job that could destroy the network if done wrong, just because it’s easy.”

Jim grinned. “Good, you understand. That’s why I’ve given you the job with Watson. It won’t be particularly hard, but it is very important.”

“What exactly makes this so important? Why is Watson worth all the trouble? I know he’s handy with a gun, but so am I. I’m better than he is.” Sebastian hated when Jim did that. When he asked Sebastian questions, pretended not to know just to quiz him. 

“You know I can’t tell you that, Tiger.” Jim shook his head, and glanced towards his laptop. 

“And you know you can, boss. Jim. Is somebody threatening you?” Sebastian stood and took a step towards the desk. Being even taller than Sherlock, he towered over Jim, and looked massive with the office’s low ceilings. 

Jim looked up at him, then shrank down slightly in his desk chair and shrugged. “Yes. But that’s not why I need Watson.”

“Who was it? Jim, _nobody_ threatens you and gets away with it. I don’t let anyone hurt you.”

“You’re so very protective, Tiger…” Jim said with a smile. One of his rare real smiles, that almost reached his dark, soulless eyes. 

“Of course I am.” Sebastian replied. “You don’t have to worry. I’m not going to let anyone hurt you. I’ll get Watson. I’ll work around Sherlock, if I have to.”

“Thank you, Sebastian.” It was the first time Jim had said that in quite some time and strange though it was, he was entirely sincere. “Thank you…” he repeated, quieter, and seemed to relax a bit. 

Sebastian took his hands gently. “Hell, Jim, you’re freezing.” He raised Jim’s hands to his lips, rubbing them to make them warmer. 

Jim shrugged. “It’s kind of cold in here. It’s alright. You should get on to your mission.” He pulled his hands away and turned to his computer. Just like that, his guard was back up. Just like that, he was no longer the accessible Jim that Sebastian so deeply cared for, but the boss, Moriarty, that Sebastian loved even more. 

“Right, boss. I’ll be back soon.” With that, he turned, and walked out of the office.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo sorry it took so long!

John was being followed, he was smart enough to know at least that much. And he at least thought he knew why, too. Who, however, was a bit more complicated of a question. He reasoned that, if he really was being followed because of his shooting skills, it was either the government or someone in search of a gun-for-hire. Either way, John wasn't going to have it. 

Whoever it was had been following him for at least a week, and he still hadn't gotten a good look at their face. He had begun to worry Sherlock with his paranoia about being followed, so he had devised a plan. Sherlock cared more about him than anyone else he knew. If something scared Sherlock, John was going to put an end to it. 

As John walked down the crowded street, he slipped a steady hand into his pocket. His army-issued revolver felt smooth against his fingers. 

He turned down a less crowded street, leading his stalker, he hoped, the same way. 

A tall, well-built man bumped against him, walking the opposite way. "Sorry, mate." He said over his shoulder, voice gruff. 

John continued walking but the man turned around. "John?" he called, "John Watson?" He made to catch up to John. "It's me, Sebastian Moran."

"Moran..." John turned to him and smiled. He pulled his hand from his pocket and offered it for Sebastian to shake. "It's been a while. I barely recognize you!"

"I know." Sebastian grinned and shook John's hand heartily. "I've grown up."

"That's right. Last I saw you, you were still a young thing." John said. "You were an excellent shot, though, very skilled for your age."

"'Young thing'?" Sebastian laughed. "I'm not much younger than you."

"I'm still the better shot, though." John smirked and crossed his arms. 

"Really? Would you like to test that?" Sebastian asked. 

"I would." 

"My boss has a place, a shooting range. Not exactly legal, but...eh, who's paying any attention?" Moran grinned. "You've still got your gun, haven't you?"

"Of course I have." The people around them, eager to be about their business, hurried past. John lowered his voice. "Let's go. We can have our competition and go out for drinks after."

"Loser buys the drinks?" Sebastian suggested. "I do love a wager."

"Deal." John grinned. "I think I'll buy the most expensive drink I can find."

Sebastian chuckled and led him off. "We'll see about that."

\--

Sherlock kept his head down as he walked past them for the sixth time. Laughter in his voice, John agreed to go with Sherlock's enemy. A broad smile on his face, John fired a shot into Sherlock's heart. 

Helplessly, Sherlock watched as Sebastian walked away with John at his side. It wasn't fair. Sebastian had Jim, why couldn't he leave Sherlock alone with John?

Anger shot up inside him, and he turned to follow Sebastian and John. He wasn't going to lose John. Not to Moran, not to Moriarty, not to anyone. 

John wasn't going to be owned by any government or criminal empire, not if Sherlock had anything to do with it. He was going to find a way to save John, even if it killed him. 


End file.
